When Tomorrow Comes!
by Riku Courtier
Summary: The year is 1815. Hershel Layton, an ex-convict is finally given his freedom away from the shipyards and fields, only to come across a more daunting task: raising a daughter, running from the law, and fighting in a war that isn't even his. This is the story of Les Miserables, PL edition. Or, at least, my take on it. I implore you all to come and take a look. You'll be glad you did.


The year is 1815 and the country of England is struggling to recover from the rages of war, the people starving and ruled under a cold reign. It is the story of these people, that is about to be told. A story of love and hope. Of dreams and fights. A story of redemption. Now, go on, dear readers and find out just what is in store.

* * *

We start off in the late afternoon, in a shipyard several, several miles away from the city of London. Convicts and prisoners of war alike are chained and forced to work together as they pull the ropes to a large warship, the vessel almost completely destroyed. The areas where they're forced to work closed off and secure, dozens upon dozens of guards stationed throughout the place as to make sure that none escape.

Amongst all of these people here, two in particular were to be taken notice of. One of which is an officer of the law, standing high upon one of the walls as he keeps watch, a white mask covering his sky blue eyes that would complement his indigo uniform if they were to be visible. He stood stoically above them all, the medals on his uniform showing his superiority among the other officers there.

He stood there, scanning the several prisoners in the yard until his eyes fall onto one prisoner in particular, a dirtied young man in his early thirties working extra hard on the ropes, his muscles bulging through the torn orange shirt he's wearing and medium brown hair falling to his shoulders in a dirtied, matted mess, shining because of the spray of water hitting him.

The officer looked to a few off to the side, yelling to them with his smooth, slightly accented voice. "Bring me that man there! Prisoner 24601!"

The men of the law nodded in acknowledgement to the orders, climbing down from the wall to the lines of men working, making their way to the young man and unchaining him from the rest of the prisoners. The convict started to struggle and kick as they began to drag him away, his thoughts already going to the worse possible scenario. The rest of the prisoners looked away from the scene, not showing any sympathy to him, knowing that it would be worthless to receive in this hell.

As soon as the convict was dropped at the feet of the head officer, he exclaims almost a little fearfully, his breathing erratic in his panic. "_I have done nothing wrong as of late! Whatever it is I am being convicted of now, I did not do it!"_

The head officer raised an eyebrow at this, though it couldn't be seen from under his mask, just shaking his head. "You can relax, 24601. You are not in trouble."

The young man blinked, looking up to the head officer and slowly starting to push himself up from the cold rock of the wall, looking at the head officer warily. "Then why have I been brought to you, officer? For what reason could you possibly have for me to be here at your feet?"

"Why, I merely wished to tell you that your parole has begun. Is there anything wrong with that?"

The ex-convict's breathe hitched, his voice almost having a disbelieving tone in it. "Y-you mean..._I'm free_?"

The officer's voice turned cold as he pulled out a yellow slip of paper from his pocket. "No. It means that you may receive your yellow ticket to leave from here. It by no means indicates that you are free, prisoner 24601."

A low growl can be heard as the man snatched the ticket out of the officer's hands, clutching it in his bitterly. _"My name is Hershel Layton."_

"And mine is Descole, but that will not change the fact that that number is yours until you die." Descole pointed to the slip of paper, his voice professional and serious. "That slip of paper in your hands is to be shown wherever you go. It tells others that you are a dangerous man and that you always and forever will be."

"I am in no way dangerous, Descole! All I did was steal a loaf of bread and it was only so I could save the life of my brother's daughter! We were starving! What else was I supposed to do?" exclaimed Hershel angrily, his fist clenching a little in the shackles holding his wrists.

Descole just shook his head, shrugging a little. "It does not matter the reason _why_. What matters is that you _did_. For five years, you've served to repay your debt to society and the other fourteen because you tried to run from us."

Hershel became quiet at this, inwardly seething in a cold hatred that had taken root during his years of slavery. Descole only chuckled, motioning for the guards to take off Hershel's handcuffs, which they immediately proceeded to do. "In any case, you are now free to leave the yard. Guards, escort him from the premises."

The ex-convict didn't say anything as the guards took him away, leading him off the wall and off to the outside world, a world that Hershel Layton had been held away from since he'd been arrested. As the guards left him there to get back to their posts, Hershel just looked around the land before him in awe, hardly able to believe he was finally free.

It was only until an old, worn knapsack was thrown at him, hitting him in the head and causing him to fall over when he finally broke free of his freedom filled euphoria. Groaning softly in pain, he slowly pushed himself up, bringing his hand up to his face only to pull it back red and wet, blood dripping from his nose where he'd hit it. He just sighed, using the worn sleeve of his long shirt to wipe the bloody away before taking a hold of the knapsack and putting it over his shoulder.

"It's been so many years since I have been able to walk upon this ground without any chains..." He looked down to the yellow slip of paper, sighing again. "Though...I suppose...that that simple fact isn't true even now. For this is my new chain to carry..."

A deep frown came onto his face as he folded the slip of paper up, sticking it into the pocket of his dark brown and muddied trousers before he started his long journey to nowhere, not entirely sure where the roads would take him, but not letting that bother him, just focusing on the new task that lay before him: Finding work and a place to sleep for the night which he knew would come all too soon.

* * *

Hershel Layton wasn't entirely sure of where he was going, but one thing was for sure. He wasn't going to find any work in the town he'd just been in.

He had tried several times in the past few hours to find a way to earn a few pounds, but each attempt had ended the same.

"There's no work for you here."

"We only hire honest men in this place! Now, get the bloody hell out of here before I call the boys in."

Or, the most recent one,

"Oi, get out of here, you bloody bastard and don't you ever show your face here again!"

That last one had left him getting chased away by the workers. Now, he was wandering the streets cold, tired, and, most of all, hungry. He hadn't eaten anything in the past few days, the last thing he'd eaten being a small piece of moldy bread that barely satisfied the hunger ravaging his body. But he pressed on, hoping for some type of refuge to come from somewhere soon.

It seemed like several days to Hershel before he finally came across a small town by the name of Dropstone, a large manor resting on a hill and several farms and houses lining the streets, including one building in particular that held much promise: A small church that lay just off the beaten path of the town.

He would have immediately headed there if not for the guard that stopped him at the entrance, his voice booming. "Passport."

Hershel let out a small sigh as he reached into his other pocket for his passport, handing it to the guard, who took that moment to write the name of the town into the passport, as well as signing his own name and stamping it, writing the name of it's owner into his ledger before tossing the small booklet back to Hershel, not caring if the ex-convict dropped it or not.

Letting out a small huff of indignation, he walked past the guard, heading down the main street of the town, looking around tiredly before he managed to spot an inn. He briskly walked up to the worn, iron-wrought doors and went inside, being sure to pull the sleeves of his shirt down as far as they would go, in an attempt to hide his scarred wrists away from prying eyes.

Unfortunately for him, the innkeeper took notice of this, going up to him. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I will have to see your parole slip please."

He just nodded tiredly, pulling the slip from his pocket and handing it to the innkeeper, watching for his reaction. The innkeeper's eyes widened a little once the words 'extremely dangerous' catch his eye, immediately handing Hershel back the slip with a shake of his head. Hershel's eyes downcasted to the floor, barely even hearing the words of the innkeeper, as he already knew what he was going to tell him.

"There is no room for you here, sir. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

He had already walked out the door by the time the words had left the innkeeper's mouth, just continuing on down the road sadly. He wasn't sure what he was going to do. Even now, so soon after arriving in Dropstone, the people were starting to avoid him, their eyes wary and fearful. '_I guess word gets around fast out here'_, he thought as he trudged on.

* * *

It wasn't until several hours after the turn away at the inn before Hershel finally collapsed from his exhaustion outside of the doors of the church. He'd tried every place in Dropstone, every farmhouse, every inn. Hell, he'd even tried the jailhouse to see if they would let him stay. But it was all in vain. Now, here he was: weak, starving, bleeding, and freezing to death outside in the night air, the threat of a rainstorm rolling around in the clouds above.

'_Well...I find this just a little ironic...that I'll die out here after surviving as a slave for nineteen long, wretched years...I guess freedom isn't truly all that it's cut out to be..._' He thought bitterly as he crawled up into the doorway of the church, curling up there and holding himself tightly in an attempt to warm himself up, the coldness of the night causing him to shiver violently.

'_I just hope that...if death does come to me this night...that it will come soon...so that I won't have to suffer out here..._' His eyes slowly started to droop as his exhaustion started to overtake him, soon falling over from his position up against the door, a loud 'THUMP' echoing inside the church.

The last thing that Hershel saw before his eyes gave into the darkness was waves of long, curly locks of purple hair falling down in front of him as somebody opened the door and kneeled beside him, the indistinguishable voice soft and caring as it echoed in his mind.

* * *

**And, welcome everyone, to my new obsession, I-I mean...story.**

** So, I have most recently turned the glorious age of twenty years old and, in celebration of it, I got to go see the new Les Miserables movie that's in theaters. And, oh my gosh, it was just so amazing! So much emotion, so much _music, _just...wow. **

**It was just beautiful, and, it's from my recent obsession with the movie and PL STILL, that this story has come alive. I've been planning it out for the past few days or so, figuring out which PL characters will play with Les Mis characters, and, to be honest, I'm quite satisfied with the result of what I've managed to come up with. **

**Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter. You can expect the next chapter HOPEFULLY soon, I make no promises, but I will most certainly try. It, hopefully, won't be too hard, considering I've got a lot of this planned already, but you never know...Anyways, read and review! Like and Favorite if you want to read more and I'll see you all next chapter! ;)**

**Edit: 2/7/2013 **

**Time: 10:54 AM**

**I am so sorry about that. I finally took notice of some proof-reading points that I failed to notice last night in my last minute attempt to get it looking okay before posting. Well, I've gone back and edited it now. Hopefully it looks a little more cleaner. **

**Also, I forgot the disclaimer. I do not own Professor Layton, Les Miserables, or even the concept of this crossover idea to begin with. The crossover idea was influenced by some artwork that I have seen on deviantart whose owners are as followed so you can go see them yourself: ozamham and MagicianCelemis.  
**


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